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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021838">I Love You Too</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheezy_wheezy/pseuds/cheezy_wheezy'>cheezy_wheezy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Love on The Weekend [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Life, Post Season 10, References to Depression</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheezy_wheezy/pseuds/cheezy_wheezy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher loves Mickey Milkovich</p><p>part 2 of drabbles about happy husbands in love :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Love on The Weekend [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I love your lips, the way that they move</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>titles based off of the song ‘I love you too’ by Peter Mcpoland, please give it a listen it’s simple, but beautiful.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ian Gallagher loves Mickey Milkovich’s annoying face…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There’s always so much going on there, despite how emotionally guarded Mickey claims to be (a fact Ian’s known to be mostly a lie from almost the get-go of their relationship). Most people would think Mickey expresses his emotions through his eyebrows. They’re certainly the most animate part of his face, jumping around indignantly like they’re performing gymnastics for a crowd.</p><p class="p1">But Ian’s had the unique luxury of studying Mickey’s face up close and personal. He’s had the rare opportunity of seeing it in its most relaxed un-performative state, when they’re lying quietly in bed just staring at each other. Or in the quiet moments in the mornings when Ian’s getting up for work, and Mickey snores on, buried in Ian’s pillow.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">With all that avid studying under his belt, Ian knows for sure there are so many more tells to Mickey Milkovich than anyone could ever guess. But his greatest betrayer of emotions? His mouth.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Ian finds himself watching his husband’s mouth a lot. Maybe it has a lot to do with the fact that Ian’s a little bit obsessed with his lips, the though of kissing him a constant presence in his mind ever since the first time they hooked up. But he’s gradually come to rely on them to understand what Mickey’s saying.</p><p class="p1">He always purses them upwards when he’s lying. It’s usually innocent, like when he’s trying to convince Ian he didn’t drink all of the orange juice straight from the carton, or that he absolutely did all of his chores himself and didn’t bribe the younger Gallaghers with beers into helping him out (Carl’s drunken saunter gave him away with that one too).</p><p class="p1">But one huge phrase that Mickey manages to convey in his subtle way is<em> Im nervous but I’m hiding it</em>, and it usually looks something like a little rabbit snuffle of the lips followed by a rough swipe to the mouth.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And Mickey’s been doing it all night. Shooting glances at Ian from the bar, wiggling those damn lips and then swiping away the physical evidence of his thoughts, before going back to nursing his beer and making stilted conversation with Kev and Tommy.</p><p class="p1">It’s driving Ian a little crazy.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Was it something he’d done? Couldn’t be, they’d been fine this morning before they’d both left for work, kissing each other softly and lingeringly. Mickey’s lips had been relaxed and upturned, when not attached to his own.</p><p class="p1">He finds himself worrying his own lip, distracted from the one sided conversation he’s having with his older brother whose hands are moving animatedly in his peripherals. He realises he’s been somewhat glaring at Mickey when the object of his troubles catches his eye and raises his eyebrows in question, lips quirking up teasingly. Those damn fucking lips. Always a cause of strife in Ian’s life, in one way or another.</p><p class="p1">Mickey grabs two fresh beers that Kev sends his way and heads back towards Ian, eyebrows still high on his forehead.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Stare a little harder and your head might explode Raggedy Ann” he greets, sitting the beers down on the table infant of Ian and sliding onto the bench beside him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You still talkin’ on about fuckin’ bicycles or whatever?” Mickey snarks at Lip, who rolls his eyes in good natured frustration.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“<em>Motor</em>-bikes, yes. A Kawasaki Z400 that we just got in, I’m repairing the-“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Aight calm it with the fuckin’ nerd talk Jesus,” Mickey snipes, taking a large gulp of his beer.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Lip looks slightly miffed for a second, but before he can rebut Tami plops herself down next to him and Sandy and Debbie are squeezing hazardously onto the edges of their benches creating an uncomfortably squashed environment token to the Gallagher siblings, effectively distracting Lip into their conversation about whatever Frank had done that morning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, he can’t for the life of him pay proper attention to them. Not when he can see Mickey occasionally rubbing at his mouth nervously from the corner of his eye.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He must be visibly tense, because suddenly Mickey is leaning over in front of him, somewhat shielding him from the others and watching him carefully.</p><p class="p1">Ian doesn’t say anything to the unspoken question, instead trying to read Mickey’s mind somehow.</p><p class="p1">Mickey raises his eyebrows, “You alright?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” he replies quickly, scanning Mickey’s face, “you good?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yep.” Mickey responds quickly, but they remain in their little stare-off— neither quite having believed the other.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The moment is cut-off by Ve arriving with the next round and their table’s responding cheers.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian sits back and tries to re-immerse himself in the night out with his family, but he is keenly aware that Mickey is now worrying at his lip with an increased vengeance.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">  ***     </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He manages to somewhat enjoy the night, despite his persistent worrying, and by the time they’re all stumbling back to the Gallagher house he’s pleasantly buzzed from the two beers he’d allowed himself, and from the boisterous yelling of the people around him as they stumbled through the streets.</p><p class="p1">At one point Mickey shoves at Lip from the side, who sidesteps him and causes Mickey to stumble and grab onto Ian’s arm to stay upright. When he grins up at Ian in thanks, his heart freezes for a second and he feels ten times warmer, managing a soft smile back at his excited husband.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">They’re only a few houses away from home when Mickey squeezes at Ian’s bicep and tugs him away from the group.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, follow me, gotta talk to you ‘bout something.”</p><p class="p1">And Ian’s heart freezes again, because Mickey’s biting his lip and he’s rubbing at his mouth and <em>oh god something must be wrong</em>.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian follows Mickey resolutely around the back of a house into an empty lot, fidgeting nervously with the zipper of his coat with one hand, the other being pulled on by Mickey, who drops it as he moves to lean against a wire fence.</p><p class="p1">He sighs contentedly, blowing steamy breaths into the air as he gazes upwards for a moment, before reaching into his coat and pulling out a cigarette, struggling to light it for a minute. When the flame finally bursts to light, he holds it up to the stick in his mouth, breathing in deeply and exhaling before he finally lifts his eyes to meet Ian’s, whose been staring at him, standing awkwardly with his hands twisting together.</p><p class="p1">Mickey takes another drag before he holds it out for Ian, raising an eyebrow in offering. Despite the mild nausea in his stomach Ian grabs the cigarette, taking a long pull as he manoeuvres to lean against the fence beside Mickey and look upwards at the cloudy night sky.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A hand reaches over and grabs at the cigarette in his mouth, and Ian laughs a little and dodges before removing it himself and handing it over.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They stand like that for a while, just passing it between them, necks craning slightly upwards. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Eventually, Mickey hesitantly clears his throat, “been thinking, man.”He croaks, cutting himself off by taking another drag.</p><p class="p1">Ian’s head snaps down towards him, suddenly nervous again, but something about how they are right now, relaxed and enjoying each others company, has him less worried about bad news and just wishing Mickey would tell him what was up already.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Thinking about what?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey sighs and drops the remnants of their dying cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his foot.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Was up in Bridgeport the other day, saw a bunch of apartments with for rent signs.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian raises an eyebrow, unsure what he’s getting at exactly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey inhales and continues on, “and like yesterday, you know I was late to work because Debbie was hogging the upstairs bathroom and Carl was in the downstairs one and even the fucking kitchen sink was being used by Liam.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He glances at Ian, seeming to be expecting him to catch on, but Ian’s never been known to catch onto hints all that easily and furrows his eyebrows in confusion.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah I remember. And…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“<em>And</em> like three weeks ago Lip walked in on us mid fuck and you couldn’t look him is the eyes all day? And a week later Debbie gave us a goddamn noise curfew? And Liam kept lookin’ at us funny and we realised we left the handcuffs in the living room?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey makes a gesture at Ian with his hands, indicating that he should be getting the fucking point by now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What the hell are you talking about Mick?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I want to move out!” Mickey bursts out, hands exploding outwards and lips forming into a thin line, eyebrows held high.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian furrows his eyebrows at the explosion, “oh,” is all he can think of to say.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickeys hands drop down a little exasperatedly, and there go the lips, and he’s wiping roughly at his mouth again.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck- I think. I want us to move out. Get a place. Together. “</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Get a place together.” Ian repeats.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, y’know like fuckin’ married couples do.” Mickey mutters, rummaging in his coat again to grab another cigarette, obviously frustrated by Ians lack of response.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And Ian thinks Mickey’s expecting a little too much of him to be able to respond right now, because all night he’s seemingly been building up to some huge nervous secret, and here he is telling Ian he wants to get a place with him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“So everything’s fine?” Ian asks a little bewilderedly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Fine? The fuck would anything be wrong for?” Mickeys mouth is a little agape, and Ian thinks he might need some revision on the language of Mickey Milkovich’s lips, because this was the absolute <em>last</em> thing he was expecting to hear right now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And with the sudden relief and happiness, because <em>Mickey wants to move out together</em>, he bursts into laughter, doubling over slightly at the force of it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Jesus Christ,” he hears Mickey mutter, the flicking of a cigarette lighter and a deep, exasperated inhale.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh my god Mickey, I was expecting the end of the world here, but you just want to move out!” He exclaims, managing to stand up and face Mickey again. Seeing the bewildered and slightly put-upon look on his face though, Ian feels his own wild grin soften.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You want to move out?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey looks down, shrugs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, ’s why I asked, asshole.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Why the fuck did you look so doom and gloom over it then?” Ian has to know, because lately Mickey has no qualms in bringing up what he wants in their relationship.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey shrugs again and sighs,</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t know man, I guess it’s kind of a big deal. For us. For you. I mean, I know how much you want to be with your family and after that whole Lip and Tami moving out fiasco… I dunno. Guess I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to leave them.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The obvious nervousness in Mickey's voice makes Ian reach out and pull him towards him, snug against his chest. He feels Mickey wrap his arms around his torso, and they stand like that for a minute, swaying together.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t think I’d miss ‘em too bad in Bridgeport, don’t think we’d be able to keep them out living that close actually. Thinkin' on it, we'd probably need somewhere way further away.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey pulls away slightly to look up at Ian, lips twisting upwards.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“So does that mean…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah Mick,” Ian laughs. “Yes I’d like to move out with you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey grins and moves forward to plant his lips on Ians, pulling them even closer together.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> It feels like coming home after all the tumultuous emotions of the night. </span></p><p class="p1">Yeah, he’ll always be obsessed with these lips, but who could blame him?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's been such a long time since part one, but it's finally here! thanks for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I love the way you say my name, means so much more, means all the same</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ian Gallagher loves the way Mickey Milkovich says his name…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">That’s how this whole thing started, wasn’t it? An angry yell of his name that struck immediate, and well-founded fear of violence, straight to his core.</p><p class="p1">Ian’s relieved to say that the reverberation of his name from Mickey Milkovich’s lips has never quite managed to match the same tone since that day (despite Mickey’s occasional attempts at intimidation).</p><p class="p1">The use of his name had been rare at first, Mickey using nicknames to deflect some of that intimacy he’d always tried to deny had built up early on in their relationship. Fire crotch, Army, Lover. But gradually, and welcomely, Mickey warmed up to using Ian’s name more consistently.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And Ian was <em>very</em> glad about that. He was <em>especially</em> glad when his name began to appear in the form of pleasured moans, initially just a whisper that couldn’t be contained in the heat of the moment, and eventually livening up into louder bursts of enjoyment when they’d become more comfortable, safe, in their surroundings. The Gallagher family could attest to the fact that the shouts had truely, annoyingly, become louder over time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian had also come to appreciate the way his name was said quietly- privately- too. Worlds away from the first screech of it in the store. Sometimes, it still sent a chilling shiver through his spine, painful but familiar.</p><p class="p1">Mickey used it often to call Ian out of the depths of his depression, like hanging a lifeline in front of him trying to draw him back to reality.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Ian. Ian. Ian.</em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Get up Ian. Wake up Ian. Look at me Ian.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It always worked, eventually. Whether it was his meds kicking in, or some other kind of magical touch, eventually Ian would respond to that call in some way and Mickey would brighten and repeat his name with less sombreness, instead with a tinge of relief.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">In the highs of mania, Mickey would repeat it soothingly, like calming down a frightened animal, trying to gently pull him down from his own perch on hysteria.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Ian calm down. Ian you’re not thinking straight. Ian you’re safe.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian clung to the whisper of his name like a drowning man, and Mickey always knew the way back to shore.</p><p class="p1">But, as much as Ian had come to love the sound of his name coming from Mickey’s lips, passionately, desperately, calmingly, he’s beginning to think he wouldn’t mind never being referred to as <em>Ian</em> ever again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They’re at the grocery store when this particular revelation hits, arguing over which brand of lube to get, because Mickey hates that flavoured shit, but Ian’s the one that’s going to be tasting it more anyway, and its a pretty serious decision for a couple to be making. Being so deep in conversation, they both startle defensively when someone clears their throat behind them, pointedly trying to get their attention.</p><p class="p1">Ian turns around to apologise to the stranger for blocking the aisle, when he notices Mickey tense up, shuffling awkwardly and eyeing the stranger dangerously. He’s just about to ask what the fuck is going on when the stranger- a lanky man with short cut hair and visible neck tattoos- grins and reaches out to clap Mickey on the shoulder in greeting.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Mickey! It’s so good to see you again man!” The guy laughs, hand squeezing Mickey’s shoulder before returning it to his side- a gesture that makes Ian’s back straighten up subconsciously with a feeling of discomfort. The man runs his eyes up and down Mickey once, before he offers a salacious grin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You look real good man” he practically purrs, and Ian’s brain clicks onto the reason he’s so uncomfortable right now. The man is clearly flirting with Mickey, and they clearly know each other somehow.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey, to his credit, seems just as uncomfortable as Ian under the attention, raising his eyebrows in a confronted gesture as he steps lightly backwards from the man and towards Ian.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Uh- hey Dean, the fuck you doin’ here?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The man- Dean- grins and steps towards Mickey again, seemingly unaware that his advances are not only unreciprocated but entirely unwelcome.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Got out on parole six months ago, I’m a free man like you now.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So they knew each other in prison, most likely from Mickey’s stint for attempted murder. The realisation makes Ian uncomfortable, knowing exactly what kind of relationship they would have had, and knowing it only would have existed because he’d essentially told Mickey not to wait for him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The thought spikes a sharp jealousy within him that propels him forward, hand reaching out to wrap over Mickey’s shoulder and smile over-politely at Mickey’s ex-whatever.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The gesture seems to finally draw Dean’s attention towards Ian, who seemed to have been invisible behind Mickey. He draws up a questioning eyebrow and flicks his eyes from Ian’s possessive smile, to Mickey’s obviously annoyed scowl.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Who’s this?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The question hangs for a second, before Mickey’s scowl tugs into something of a smirk.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s Ian.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian was expecting some sort of snarky retort, a clever way to say <em>nice try asshole but I’m taken</em>, but this- it seems to fall… flat. Kind of meaningless. His name just seeming to roll away down the aisle in a way that makes Ians guts twist uncomfortably, because there’s nothing all that special behind it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> I's the first time in a long time that Mickey saying Ian's name has ever felt devoid of meaning.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dean seems to get the same message, because the flirtatious smile hesitantly begins to creep back across his face, still staring at Mickey. Ian’s about to remove his arm from Mickey’s shoulders, unsure why the answer was so discomforting, when Mickey shifts to lean against him just a little more, halting Dean with a jerk of his chin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“He’s my husband.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And <em>fuck</em>, Ian could have jumped for joy for the way that word bubbled up inside him. He realises, this is the first time he’s ever been introduced as Mickey’s husband. Shit could he get used to it. The word rings out ten times louder and better than his name ever could. Who needs to know his name is <em>Ian</em>, when Mickey could just forever call him<em> ‘my husband’</em>?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dean seems to deflate a little, shifting his body away from them a little awkwardly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh, congrats." He steps back, obviously a little startled. </p><p class="p1">"I uh- better get back to shopping. It was nice to see you Mickey.” He gives an awkward little wave, seemingly a little frozen with embarrassment, before he turns around and shuffles his way down the aisle.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian can’t help but cringe a little internally in sympathy, all rage and jealousy lost under the word <em>husband</em> repeating over and over in his head. That word alone seemed to hold all the meaning Mickey could ever put into his name and doubled it twice over. Never mind the way Mickey had said it, so smugly, <em>proudly</em> even.</p><p class="p1"><br/>
He shifts to hold Mickey at an arms length from him, and he can feel how insane the grin is on his face- probably contorted into an ugly joker-like leer from how wide he can feel it splitting. Mickey rolls his eyes at his ridiculousness.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Fuckin’ dork we’ve been married three months.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian nods slowly, “yeah, but we haven't introduced ourselves as husbands to anyone yet. I feel romanced to hell, Mick.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey rolls his eyes, if possible, even harder than before and knocks Ians hands from his shoulders.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You’re such a sappy bitch, it’s gross,” he mutters, turning to head out of the aisle towards check-out, Ian grinning at the back of his head the whole time. He can’t seem to shake the weird feeling Mickey’s words have caused, so unlike the familiar way his name is usually uttered, this feels new, exciting, promising.</p><p class="p1">That’s it, it sounds like a promise, that things are getting better, that things are finally going right for them. Ian shivers a little at that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey seems to sense his eyes on him, and his shoulders shake a little with laughter before he flips Ian the double bird over his shoulders,</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“And don’t forget the fuckin’ lube!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I love your hands held close to mine, the way that our fingers all intertwine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ian Gallagher loves Mickey Milkovich’s hands…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He thinks they’re the perfect representation of the giant juxtaposition that is Mickey Milkovich.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Because, up close and personal, they’re probably the softest and gentlest hands Ian has ever encountered. And yes, maybe gentle and soft aren’t all that common growing up in the Southside, people much more focused on urgency or command than comfort. He doesn’t have the largest frame of reference really, as to how gentle caresses should feel, how much hands running down your spine should make you shiver or how well hands wrapped around your arms should keep you tethered to the ground when you desperately believe you’re starting to float away. No, he’s not all that experienced with that sort of thing, least of all in a romantic sense, the comfort of familial touch could never fit all of that in anyway.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Even so, Ian’s pretty sure that Mickey’s hands were perfectly created to do all of those things.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When you’re at a distance from Mickey Milkovich, the first thing you’d notice is the gruffness. The blatant threats, crude jokes, the tattoos promising vengeance, scars on knuckles. At face-value he’s a walking advertisement of what to fear about the Southside, because those hands seem to promise hurt to anyone who makes a wrong move.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But Ian’s learnt from experience that things rarely ever should be taken at face value. Sure, he’s experienced what those hands promise, they’ve bruised him, scarred him, and they’ve definitely fucked him up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">In moments when they’re alone together, behind closed doors, that’s when Ian gets to see what else they’re capable of. Their ability to bandage up cuts and scrapes with practiced ease directly contradicts the threatening message printed on their exterior. The soft massages to his shoulders when they’re laying together at night, the loose grip on his own hands as they sleep. Up close, the tattoos look endearing rather than terrifying. The scars on his hands show a past of struggle and growth they’ve been through together- Ian tends to trace them at night, recalling if he was there for that one, who gave him this one, how young he must’ve been when he got the one that is so faint and faded now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Increasingly, Ian finds himself connected to Mickey’s hands out in public too. When they’re watching TV at the Gallagher house, surrounded by Ian’s siblings, Mickey’s hands find their way onto his knees, around his shoulders, intertwined with his own. Casual touch, a thing Ian had once never imagined might be a part of their relationship when they were young and afraid, seemed to gradually make its way into their interactions. At the grocery store, at the bar, walking down the street, even past the Milkovich house- all without hesitation, no more fear.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And Mickey’s hands were expert at conquering fear. That night, like most nights, they lie down together a little after nine, not expecting to rest for long. One of Mickey’s hands is gripping Ians, trapped together between them, Ian lying on his back, Mickey on his side next to him, his other hand drawing incoherent but soothing patterns along Ian’s chest.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian makes a little groaning noise, the side effects of his night dose of medication making him nauseous and dizzy. It will pass in a couple of minutes, but they lie together and wait it out.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mickey hushes him a little, hand snaking up to squeeze at the back of Ian’s neck reassuringly- gentle, soft. His hand returns to trailing up and down Ians torso, causing a small shiver to run through his body. This is how it’s supposed to feel. He knows it for sure now, never really doubted. But the addition of the cold bands of their wedding rings clicking together whenever they slightly shift seems to act like a tether, no matter how dizzy he gets he always knows exactly where he is.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A few more minutes pass, and Ian feels his symptoms ease. Mickey, used to this routine, surely knows too, but neither of them make to move just yet, content to be touching and relaxed for a little while.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Eventually, Mickey nudges Ian a little, indicating that they should probably get up. Ian sighs, and begins to shift upwards, feeling Mickey’s hand slip around to his back, applying some supportive pressure to help him up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Y’know,” Mickey whispers, voice a little hoarse from relaxation, “when we move out we can just do this on our couch so we wouldn’t even have to get up afterwards.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ian grins at him for that, wrapping his large hands around the back of Mickey’s head and drawing him in for a languid kiss, sliding together softly for a few seconds, breathing each other in.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I think we’ll be doing a lot more on our couch that resting, Mick,” he quips cheekily, pressing in for another quick kiss, before he slides off the bed to stand in front of Mickey, who laughs before reaching out his hand for Ian to grab and pull him off the bed, wiggling his fingers a bit when Ian doesn’t immediately latch on.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He stares at it for a second, watching the little gesture of attachment, before intertwining their fingers and tugging gently, so they stand nose to nose. Their wedding bands slide back into place next to each other, and he gives Mickey a squeeze.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Their hands fit perfectly together like two puzzle pieces, a little worn from out from general use, a little battered by life, but still a perfect connection. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Smiling at each other, Ian adjusts his grip on Mickey’s hand and uses it to lead him out of their room to join their family downstairs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. All of my life, it’s been all for you.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ian Gallagher loves that he’s the one who gets to experience Mickey Milkovich’s secret romantic side…</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He’d woken up a little later than usual, groaning and stretching at the offence of having to get up when it’s the weekend. Sighing, he rolled over with his arm outstretched to wrap around a warm body, however where his arm expected to meet soft skin and muscle, it just plopped straight down onto the cold side of the bed.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Huh- that was weird. Mickey hardly ever woke up before him, let alone actually got up before him- at least not without waking Ian up first for a ‘special’ activity to start the day off right with.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">But the other side of the bed was definitely cold and crumpled and empty, meaning Mickey was not only up before him, but he’d been up for a long time too. Weird.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Sighing at the sub-par wake up, Ian stretched his stiff limbs and rolled clumsily to plant his feet on the floor, scratching his stomach idly. He could feel it beginning to grumble with hunger, and he hoped that Mickey had at least made him breakfast for abandoning him in bed.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He stumbled out of their bedroom blearily, pulling on a t-shirt as he ambled down the hallway and towards the stairs, noting with concern that the house was eerily quite, something that only happened when everybody was out- or something pretty bad had happened. The latter option was much more likely than it should be in this household, and Ian peered into the kitchen cautiously from his perch on the bottom step.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">There definitely wasn’t anyone home. He strained his ears for sounds of concerned whispers or shuffling feet, but could’t make out anything. Shoulders slumping in relief, he took the final step into the kitchen, heading straight to the coffee pot. His relief gave way to confusion pretty quickly though, when he glanced up to the decades old clock hung up hap-hazardously over the kitchen sink, which now read in barley legible print, that it was only just 8:00.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Something was definitely up, because having not only Mickey, but the whole Gallagher residence seemingly absent from the house at once was a little strange in itself, but before eight o’clock on a <em>weekend</em> no-less? Ian felt himself grow fidgety, and quickly poured his cup of coffee out so he could return upstairs and find his phone. Hopefully Mickey would pick up for once because Ian hated being home alone, especially with Terry on his murderous rampage hanging around the neighbourhood.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The phone rung out. Twice.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian huffed in frustration, hanging up a little aggressively and neglecting to leave a voicemail at Mickey’s command</p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>“I’m not gonna pick up right now so leave a fuckin’ voicemail. Probably won’t listen to it though so whatever.”</em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He tossed his phone back onto the bed, following after it only a second later. He lay there on the bed, empty cup of coffee in his hand, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t realised he’s become this… clingy. Because Mickey had left and Ian didn’t know where he was, and his whole family had gone too, and shit he was starting to panic a little.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">What if Terry had… no. Mickey wouldn’t venture anywhere near Terry, he’d promised him.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">What if they’d been involved in some illegal scheme and the cops had come and arrested them all and Ian had somehow slept through it?</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out what station they might have been taken to for a good few seconds before he realised what he was thinking about right now. He actually laughed out loud at himself.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jesus he was acting stupid. Everything was probably fine. Everything better be fine.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">***</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian jumped about three inches off the bed and felt his soul leave his body at the sound of a huge <em>crash</em> downstairs. Shit, he must’ve fallen asleep again. He clambered out of bed and down the hall more speedily this time, only pausing at the top of the stairs to grab the baseball bat hanging on its hook.</p>
<p class="p1">Cautiously, he crept downwards baseball bat held high, fully expecting Terry or some other Milkovich to be standing in the living room plotting murder, but when a face suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs in front of him, he let out a yelp and swung the bat clumsily at the persons head, finding himself loosing balance somewhat when they grabbed the bat and tugged.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He ended up on the floor.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Jesus fuck Ian! What the fuck was that!”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian looked up to see a bewildered Mickey glaring down at him, baseball bat held loosely at his side.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“You just tried to fucking kill me man.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Holy shit Mickey I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed, stumbling to his feet, “I thought you were Terry trying to kill me or a robber or something.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey raised an eyebrow indignantly.</p>
<p class="p1">“And that was your brilliant tactic? Jesus remind me not to let you defend the house during a home invasion.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian huffed a laugh, admittedly a little embarrassed by his panicked attempt at protecting himself.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Yeah well, I wouldn’t have been so on edge if I hadn’t woken up to a completely empty house at eight o’clock this morning.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey looked surprised at that, glancing at the clock that now 8:45.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Huh- um, I didn’t think you’d be awake by then, you usually don’t get up ’til nine on the weekends.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian raised an eyebrow, “what do you mean? Where’d you go?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey shuffled a little bit, and that’s when Ian noticed the wrapped box lying on the floor behind him, and another box full of grocery bags and what looked to be a few decorations, scattered around the floor. There was the source of the noise, presumably. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“What’s going on Mickey?” Ian said, glancing between the stuff on the floor and Mickey’s guilty face.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey held out for a second, seeming to consider whether he was willing to spill to Ian, but the look on Ian’s face must’ve been stern, because he sighed and threw up his hands in exasperation.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“You weren’t supposed to see any of this god dammit! Thought you’d still be asleep when I got back.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian just raised his eyebrows again, waiting for an explanation because he hadn’t been this confused in a long ass time.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I asked everyone to leave for the day, they left early to get party supplies for tonight.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Party supplies?” Ian asked, completely bewildered. It wasn’t his birthday for another few months. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday anytime soon actually. And it definitely wasn’t an anniversary of theirs, because he’d been keeping a countdown on his phone.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“A party for what?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey sighed again, obviously annoyed that his secrets were being outed, but Ian was so genuinely confused he didn’t really care about the surprise he was ruining.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I wanted to throw you a party to celebrate, you know, you got that new job and you were excited and…” Mickey looked awkward, shrugging his shoulders, “whatever it’s stupid.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian was taken aback. He’d heard back only two days ago about landing another EMT job up on the Northside. He’d been ecstatic, never expecting to be able to work that kind of job ever again, what with his mental illness and new criminal record, but the company was a private one, and Sue from his old job had put in a good word for him. It really was a great thing to have happened.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">And Mickey wanted to celebrate that. Jesus, Mickey was going to throw a celebration for that.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He lurched forwards and manhandled Mickey into a hug, who awkwardly reciprocated with one arm, the other still holding the baseball back.</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t make this a big deal man. Just wanted to have a party and get drunk ’s all.” He muttered into Ian’s neck, but he didn’t loosen the grip he had on Ian’s back.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian chuckled at Mickey’s attempted to downplay it, “sure Mick, I know.” He sighed, stepping back again, a soft sappy smile plastered to his face.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“You’re the best you know?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Fuck off.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian laughed loudly, but his eyebrows scrunched again in confusion.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Wait but why’d everyone have to be out of the house? Why so early?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Unlike trying to pull the secret about the party out from Mickey before, this question prompted a wicked grin that made Ian step back a little, suddenly wary.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Well that, dear Ian, is because we’re doing the best part of the celebration all on our own.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He traipsed over to the grocery bags and shuffled around in them for a second, before he turned around again with an even wider grin on his face.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I was gonna make you breakfast in bed and all that shit, but seeing as you’re already up, we can get straight to the good part.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">In one hand Mickey had a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses, in the other was the biggest tub of lube that Ian had ever seen.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Holy fuck Mickey.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I know you’re not really meant to drink, but today we’re getting day-drunk. No- day-<em>smashed. </em>And this…” He hefted up the tub of lube, tossing it to Ian, who barely managed to catch it.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Well I’m sure you know what that’s for.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian stared at the lube for a second, before looking back to Mickey, who was smirking proudly at Ian from next to the stairs. He felt an irrepressible bubble of affection building up inside of him, and he was sure his face had gone soft as fuck, eyes crinkling up at his husband who’d gone out of his way to make him happy today.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“This is amazing, Mickey Milkovich.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey smirked at him again, but his face had also gone softer during the stare-off.</p>
<p class="p1">“You deserved it, Ian Gallagher,”He murmured.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Now,” he said, taking a step up the staircase, breaking the sappy mood, “let’s get this fucking party started.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">And with a salacious grin, he was running up the stairs, Ian hot on his heels.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Sayin’ I love you too</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ian Gallagher loves Mickey Milkovich…</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Jesus his back hurt. His arms were also burning with over-use, his shoulders tightening painfully whenever he tensed to lift something heavy.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">It’d taken them almost three hours to move into their new apartment, with the help of Carl, Lip and Kev. Although they’d been balling on a <em>very</em> tight budget, they’d still managed to accumulate enough furniture to fully furnish the small apartment they’d ended up renting. It had been a combination of scouring charity stores and online listings and some tactical dumpster diving to find everything they needed, and even with everything completely mismatched and a little stained- Ian was pretty damn happy about it.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Well- he was happy about everything except the huge brown armchair that Mickey had insisted on carrying home when they’d found it on the side of the road. Ian was pretty sure he’d seen <em>at</em> <em>least</em> three types of animals living in it, and when they’d washed it out with a hose in the front yard he was almost <em>certain</em> he’d spotted fleas jumping ship.</p>
<p class="p1">He shuddered to look at it. It was Mickey’s stubborn contribution however, and he decided to let it slide, as long as it never touched another piece of furniture it the house- or him- ever.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">They’d also been limited to moving everything in Kev’s old truck, which was half filled with storage space that in the past had been used for food, drugs, cleaning supplies and then more drugs.</p>
<p class="p1">In the end it had taken at least ten trips back and forth to get everything over and onto the sidewalk, while Mickey and Lip had started carrying things upstairs.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Looking around now, it had all definitely been worth it. It didn’t really look the best, certainly not winning any awards for interior design, but they had a couch, a kitchen stocked with cooking supplies, a pretty decent bed, and even a dining table for if they ever decided to hazard hosting a Gallagher family dinner.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian wasn’t entirely sure they could fit everyone in the cramped space- but they would probably find a way.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The apartment they’d ended up going with was only a fifteen minute walk from the Gallagher house, and was located in only a slightly shit-hole neighbourhood. It actually had taken a while to decide on, almost a whole year since Mickey had proposed the idea.</p>
<p class="p1">Honestly Ian was surprised they’d managed to find anything so cheap that wasn’t filled with black mould or located in the type of sketchy neighbourhood where he’d have to go back to carrying a shiv whenever he went out.</p>
<p class="p1">But really, it was a pretty nice place, by their standards at least. Mickey had groused about the amount of new parents that seemed to be around until Ian had reminded him that even with five newborn babies in the building, it would still be quieter than the Gallagher house.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">So really, Ian was pleased. The apartment was clean(ish), fully furnished and safe. And to top it all off, right now it was filled with some of his favourite people in the world, eating pizzas and downing beers. They were talking over each other good naturally and laughing loudly, winding down from a day of physical labour.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian grinned to see Mickey lean in to whisper something to Carl, both of them eyeing Kev for a second before bursting out into laughter, clearly high on some inside joke Ian was sure he’d never be allowed to understand. He’d preened to realise Mickey was growing closer with his brothers, finding out Mickey had spent the day with Lip, helping him scavenge supplies for his renovations and then hanging out at the Alibi. They’d increasingly bonded over smart-ass stories, and Lip had helped Mickey a surprising amount in apartment-hunting. He’d even heard that Mickey and Tami had got on nefariously, good-naturedly bullying Lip in his own home.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Carl and Mickey though- that was a dangerous friendship blooming. Even with Carl becoming a cop, Ian was worried they’d egg each other on into stupid and probably criminal pass-times.He was secretly waiting for the day when he’d get the call to bail them both out for something petty. And they seemed to share an abundance of inside jokes, both of their brains working similarly to find the most obscene aspect of any situation. They really were a scary duo. Ian loved it nonetheless.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey caught Ian watching him and raised his eyebrows, smiling fondly back at him. Ian could feel his heart squeezing with the amount of adoration he had inside of him right now, gazing at his husband in their new home.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Kev let out a particularly raucous laugh, hands clapping loudly and effectively breaking them out of their bubble, both turning back to the conversation with stupid little grins on their faces.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">***</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The others left after another couple of hours, bidding them farewell and warning them not to make too much noise christening the place, so the neighbours wouldn’t hate them too soon.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">And while the thought was tempting, Ian and Mickey instead spent another hour or so unpacking their smaller items and finishing the place off. Ian made the bed and stocked their wardrobes, while Mickey unpacked and safely stored away the few weapons they still had and hooked up their new (old) TV.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">It was about seven o’clock when they finally collapsed together onto the couch, both extremely exhausted from the stress and labour of moving. It was quiet, but comfortable between them, and Ian found himself gazing at the side of Mickey’s face. His head was resting at an angle on the back of the couch, face pointed upwards at the ceiling, eyes closed. It gave Ian a perfect view of all his features, relaxed and serene.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">His eyes traced from the top of Mickey’s head, where his hair was falling over his forehead, and sticking up a little wildly in a way that tugged at the corners of Ian’s mouth. His gaze dropped down to those iconic eyebrows, for once resting right above Mickey’s closed eyes instead of half way up his forehead. Over still eyelids and down his perfectly sloped nose, Ian’s couldn’t help but get caught on the sight of Mickey’s lips, relaxed and slightly tilted upwards, like even in his semi-asleep state he couldn’t contain his happiness. His neck was arched beautifully, and the rest of his body was slumped messily over the couch, one hand idly massaging his left leg.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian watched for another few moments, but couldn’t help from shuffling a little closer. He leaned in and pressed a soft, barely there kiss to the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling his scent while he was there. Mickey shifted slightly at the contact, but his mouth widened into a noticeable smile that Ian couldn’t help but mimic. He moved upwards, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Mickey responded by moving his hand to Ian’s shoulder, squeezing and pulling him closer.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian paused, barely inches from his husbands face, and pressed their foreheads together. He hadn’t expected the tidal wave of emotions he was experiencing, a little overwhelmed at everything that was happening today, what it all meant.</p>
<p class="p1">He pressed the softest kiss to Mickeys left eye, then his right, and when he pulled away slightly those eyes were open and watching him fondly. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Hey,” He murmured, reaching up to trace lovingly at Ian’s cheek bone. Ian pressed into the touch, so that Mickey’s hand was cradling his face.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Hey.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">They lay like that for a couple of minutes, Ian partially in Mickey’s lap, stroking down Mickey’s neck and shoulders, and Mickey holding Ian’s head, thumb tracing along his cheek.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">A low grumbling noise made them freeze for a second in surprise, before bursting out into subdued laughter.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“Sounds like I’m getting hungry man,” Mickey giggled, patting at his stomach as if to sooth its complaints.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian snorted, pushing out of his comfortable position from on top of Mickey, back to sitting on the other side of the couch.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“C’mon, let’s go make us some dinner then,” he grinned, clapping Mickey on the leg before heading into the kitchen to test it out for the first time.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">***</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">They fucked slowly that night. Not making much noise, but it definitely wasn’t for the benefit of the neighbours. They were too caught up in each other, too deep in the happiness of finally, <em>finally</em> living with each other, being together always, starting the next step. Who knew what this would lead to? New traditions, new friends… kids? Neither of them could really guess, but the idea was excruciatingly present, and they channeled it into each other, breathing harshly into the barely-there space between their mouths, foreheads pressed close, hands roaming, squeezing, teasing, but never leaving each other’s skin.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">They laid together afterwards, neither really wanting to speak, content to just be next to each other and grow familiar with their new surroundings. He could sense Mickey starting to drift off beside him from the way his breathing slowed down and how he curled in closer to Ian’s side.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Ian though of how he’d always hated sleeping in new places. It always reminded him too much of being forced out of his home by CPS, having to learn to survive in foster homes or group houses. Or having to live in the van, or some random family member’s living room for the night, when Frank would have the house full of drunks passing around drugs.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">When he’d first started living at the Milkovich house, he’d been manic. He didn’t really have the capacity to be nervous or unsure, but by the time he’d come back down, he was used to it, and sleeping next to Mickey every night was just as comforting as sleeping in the cramped single bed at home, surrounded by his brothers.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He shifted onto his side to face his husband, definitely close to sleep now, if not there already. He knew he’d never feel nervous sleeping somewhere new as long as Mickey was in bed with him, and he could feel himself growing so full of love in that moment it made him a little nauseous. One person shouldn’t have that much power over another person. One person shouldn’t be able dictate whether you were happy or not, just by being present.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Yet Mickey did, yet Mickey could.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He traced a finger lightly across the side of Mickey’s face, sighing softly into the quiet room.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I love you, Mickey.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey stirred a little, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he shuffled forward, eyes still closed, and pressed his lips to Ian’s chest, right above his heart where his name was tattooed on Mickeys body forever. Mickey’s other hand stroked at Ian’s hair soothingly.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Mickey didn’t say anything, as they both fell back to sleep, but the message was loud and clear.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Mickey loved him too.</em>
</p>
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